


Remembrance

by Demibel



Series: History Repeats [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Because this is my OT3 and no one can take it away from me, F/M, I don't know how to canon, M/M, Multi, NSFW will definitely happen in coming chapters, Reincarnation, not complete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never walked in, ever. She looked in and saw the women there, servers, mistresses, people who waited on the members, a woman she refused to be. But then she noticed him. A young man, with thick, unruly black curls and piercing blue eyes, concentrating on a game of dominos and a green bottle of what she could only assume was wine. It was the eyes that struck her, when he looked up briefly she could see them clearly and she shivered, goose bumps appearing on her skin suddenly. This day, she walked inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come Home

It was her third rally. She just loved being there, in the thick of it all, her blood singing with the thought of revolution. These boys were good at the public speaking thing, she’d give them that, and they seemed strong enough for what would inevitably come to a battle. She was good at predictions like that, when Raymond read to her from his history books about the great wars of their past, she was always able to predict the outcomes. Laetitia would have studied history, if women had been allowed to study at university. She would have studied history and art, and she would have joined Les Amis de l’ABC as soon as she was able. And not for the first time since her birth, she cursed her gender and the time that she was born in.

 

When the rally was over she followed the boys back to their café. She never walked in, ever. She looked in and saw the women there, servers, mistresses, people who waited on the members, a woman she refused to be. But then she noticed him. A young man, with thick, unruly black curls and piercing blue eyes, concentrating on a game of dominos and a green bottle of what she could only assume was wine. It was the eyes that struck her, when he looked up briefly she could see them clearly and she shivered, goose bumps appearing on her skin suddenly. This day, she walked inside.

 

She was beautiful, he thought as she walked over, and it was clear that she was walking towards him. Long, tangled blonde hair and an air about her that demanded to be noticed. Grantaire couldn’t decide who she reminded him of more, Athena or Ares, which in and of itself was enticing. She even reminded him of Enjolras, with her hair and the grace in which she held herself. When she sat next to him he shot her a smarmy grin and nodded in greeting. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.” He had taken many a mistress before, and he could do much worse than to bed this beauty. She smirked “I haven’t seen you before. Laetitia. Call me Laetitia.” He raised his eyebrow slightly, she was not one to beat around the bush “Grantaire. But my friends call me R.”

 

“Well, R, are you going to offer me a drink or are you going to continue to lose your game?” She smiled, laughter crinkling her eyes as he glanced down at his game with an open mouth. After a moment of studying it he frowned and huffed, taking the bottle and pouring her a glass. “Thank you.” She chuckled and toasted him, lifting the glass to her lips. She’s frustrating and teasing and laughing at him, though fondly, like she always does….No, wait…that’s not right. He’s never met her before, why did he think that? He shook the odd errant thought from his mind and raised his bottle to her. “I should be the one thanking you, for catching it.”

 

“You were never very good at table top games.” She said with a chuckle, before a look of slow recognition crossed her face. He caught it, but said nothing, only frowning slightly as she touched her finger tips to her mouth, wiping wine and the remnants of her words from them. “Sorry, I…Never mind. Have we met before?” She asked, searching his face for anything she would recognize. He could only frown and shake his head, because he was certain that they hadn’t, even if there was something about her that just felt so familiar, and when he looked at her, he felt a strange sense of comfort and belonging, one that he did not as often feel at the Musain.

 

They talked for hours that night, laughing and teasing and joking in a way that reeked of a familiar friendliness that Courfeyrac couldn’t help but notice. When the blonde woman excused herself for a moment, the law student sidled over to Grantaire, smirking. “She’s a fine catch.” He pointed out. “How long have you been talking with her?” The drunk shrugged. “I’ve only met her this evening.” Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You two look to be about as thick as thieves. Are you certain you’ve never met before?” Grantaire shook his head, looking into his now empty wine bottle. His friend merely hummed in thought and stood when Laetitia returned. “Mademoiselle. I am leaving my peer in your very beautiful hands. I trust I’ll get him back intact.”

 

She looked over at R, who was flushing angrily into his wine bottle, glaring at Courfeyrac. She smirked and looked back at the curly haired law student. “You’ll get him back intact. When you get him back.” Courfeyrac’s eyebrows shot up and he tipped an invisible hat in her direction. When he had joined the others, she held her hand out for the drunk. “Come home with me Grantaire.” It was a question, but also a demand. She wanted him to come home with her, and for her to meet Raymond. He looked at her, a slow, smug grin forming. “It would be an honor mademoiselle.” He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. They left the café like that, arm in arm, laughing and talking as they had been.

 

As they walked the streets of Paris, they spoke more candidly about things no strangers usually do. Politics, religion, history, romance, all of it was fair game. As they approached her flat Laetitia stopped them. “I have to be perfectly frank with you, R. I’m bringing you home to meet my husband. He and I…we share an understanding. If I am to bring home anyone, he usually likes to be there. To make sure I’m well taken care of.” The implication lay heavy in her voice, that Raymond would be keeping a close eye on them, and he might even join. Grantaire swallowed. It was something he’d never encountered before, but she was lovely, and he was buzzed, and the revolution was upon them, so why not live for today? He nodded, reaching up to cup her cheek. “May I?” He tilted his head, coming closer. She smiled, nodding, and he closed the gap, bringing their lips together in a first kiss.

 

She tasted the same. After all these years. Like ash and the farm and a hint of metal from her shield. No…that wasn’t….He pulled away, frowning. She touched her lips, her own brows furrowed in confusion. And suddenly the voices that had been whispering at them all night began to scream, bursting forth as if they could not wait another moment. Memories of blood and rage and power, but also of a warm fire and a home filled with love flooded into their minds. The looks they shared were ones of both fear, and longing to understand. When they touched hands once more, it was clear. They were not as they thought. Grantaire spoke first. “Lagertha?” His voice was soft, tentative, just as she remembered it. “Athelstan.” The name fit on her tongue as if it had been there for hundreds of years. Joyous laughter spilled forth from his lips and he wrapped strong arms around her, pulling her into the tightest embrace he could muster. He was stronger than he used to be. When he lost God, he found dance and gymnastics and boxing, along with the wine he was so well known to enjoy. Lagertha was still that strong woman he’d come to love, just dressed in a peasant’s dress, fighting a revolution he barely believed in.

 

“Come. You must come.” She pulled away, tugging his hand. “Raymond….Ragnar. He must remember you as well. Come home, please, priest.” Another laugh, but he went eagerly, letting her tug him along, like she had before. They had found each other once more, in yet another lifetime. Without the other women vying for her husband’s attention, she hardly had to worry about history repeating itself. They walked hand in hand on that warm Spring night, eager to get home to find their warrior waiting for their return. Their Viking would return that evening, if it took all night for them to entice him out.


	2. Their Viking

It was not uncommon for his wife to bring home attractive men for them to share. Raymond encouraged it, especially when he saw how happy it made her. Laetitia was a spirited woman, and giving her these freedoms only made their lovemaking better. After every new man left, she would make sure to claim her husband once more, with rough kisses and possessive bites, leaving him breathless and eager for the next encounter.

He could tell that this one was different immediately. The way she smiled when she introduced him, the brightness of her eyes when she said his name. Grantaire, or R, as he added with a chuckle. A witty pun. One that Raymond appreciated, if only for the nickname that would come easily to his lips when there were little words to say. But still, there was uneasiness to this. They way she touched the younger man, it was far too tender at first, like she knew where he needed to be touched. There was a familiarity to their conspiring looks that sent his mind reeling, attempting to place the man’s face in the past. Perhaps they knew each other from university, or had seen each other on the street. When he could not puzzle it out, he huffed and walked over to their bed, crossing his arms as he watched his wife whisper in the man’s ear.

He raised an eyebrow as the new man stepped back, falling into the chair by their single table. She stepped forward, kneeling before him. She smiled up at him, the same look she always had when she knew something he didn’t. “What?” He asked gruffly, even as he tenderly stroked the hair from her cheek. “Always so rough, my husband. Isn’t he beautiful? Don’t you see him? Don’t you like my choice? His kiss is wonderful, Raymond. Don’t you want to try him for yourself?” She pressed her own kiss to the inside of his thigh as Grantaire swallowed behind them, his chest tightening at the sight.

Raymond smirked down at his clever wife and beckoned to the younger man. “You seem to have my wife enamored. I hope you don’t mind if I see what all the fuss is about.” Grantaire shook his head as he stood to join them, an eager hand undoing his cravat and the buttons of his waistcoat. He remembered now, that Ragnar was always the one to get him into their bed, but Lagertha was the initiator, always suggesting it first. Tonight would be no different. Raymond kept one hand on his wife’s cheek, and the other tangled in brown curls as the cynic went to sit next to him on their bed. And before he could process, Athelstan was being kissed by his warrior. His lips still felt rough and course, no longer weathered by battle, but by poverty. Still, he could not help but moan into the kiss, his own hands finding purchase in Lagertha’s hair, and on Ragnar’s side. But as soon as it had begun, it ended when the older man pulled away, his eyes wide with confusion. Lagertha rubbed his knee, hoping to soothe. “It’s alright, my love. Listen to my voice. You remember, yes?” He nodded, barely meeting the woman’s eyes. “Then it is fine.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to the middle of his palm. “We are here. Look. Look at us. Ragnar.” She spoke his name reverently, as if she had just met him. His eyes shone with recognition as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Lagertha.” His rough voice was barely above a whisper, and then he turned to face a brightly grinning ex-priest. “Athelstan.” The brunette nodded, squeezing Ragnar’s hip. “I found you this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time. Just wanted to get Ragnar established.


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW in this chapter

It was easy, after they had all remembered. There was no pretense or awkwardness in the way Ragnar ripped Athelstan’s waistcoat from his body, rough hands undoing the buttons as Lagertha worked at the younger man’s pants. They were eager to see their priest’s body, eager to see the new strength he had, the way he reacted now. This man was not the Athelstan they knew so well, with his shy nature, and his need to be pulled from his shell before he would react. This new man was willing to take his pleasure, and show his lovers that he’d found it. They pushed him back on their bed as soon as he was nude, and he laid back, allowing their eyes to roam over him as they pleased. His smirk was one of a hedonist, a man who was used to finding pleasure in another person’s body, or a bottle of wine. The others found it irresistible.

Lagertha was the first to be naked after they had Athelstan where they wanted. She was the first to crawl over the priest’s body, kissing him deeply as she let his hands travel over the swell of her buttocks, and follow the curve of her back until they tangled in her long, blonde hair. Ragnar watched with a fond sort of lust as he removed his own clothes. At once, he cursed the time they were born in, for the men’s style included far too many layers for a warrior’s liking. But once he too was nude, he knelt by his two lovers, his hands roaming over both their bodies.

This was about relearning the best ways to make Athelstan cry out. Lagertha and Ragnar knew each other in two lifetimes. Neither had changed much, only dressed differently. But this Grantaire, he was so different, and though he was still Athelstan, he was no longer the blushing, God-fearing virgin that had come to them at fist. The way he moaned when Lagertha bit down on his neck was new, and the way he arched into Ragnar’s touch as his hand stroked the dark hair that covered his belly was a pleasant surprise.

Lagertha looked to her husband, asking silently what they should do with the younger man, and he responded by moving them. With a few movements, he had Lagertha laying back on the bed, with Athelstan above her, and he nestled himself behind and between the younger man’s thighs. “Taste her, Athelstan. See how wet she is for you? She wants you to fuck her. But first, show us what you have learned.” The priest was only too happy to give into the demands of his lovers.

He lowered his head, pressing his behind into Ragnar’s body. The larger man growled and gave it a smack, finding satisfaction in the red mark and the hiss that was muffled by his wife’s body. And then Athelstan began to work, leaving Lagertha to moan softly, her fingers finding purchase in his hair, pressing his face closer to her. He swirled his tongue against her, that perfect nub that he now knew offered such sensational pleasure. And by the way she rocked her hips against his face, he knew he was doing well. Athelstan continued to work his tongue, working the woman into a frenzy. He moaned at the wet heat coming from her, and with less than a muffled warning, he had his fingers against her as well. It was then he cried out, because Ragnar had chosen that moment to press an oil slicked finger to Athelstan’s entrance, mirroring the motions he was offering their female lover. He pressed his hips back, encouraging that finger while entering the woman with his own. Their moans mingled as the fingers moved. Athelstan’s opening and teasing Lagertha as Ragnar thust his calloused finger into Athelstan.

Athelstan’s moans were muffled by Lagertha’s heat, and Ragnar used this to his advantage, slipping in another finger to see if he could get the former priest to moan load enough for him to hear it clearly. When he did, Lagertha gasped, the vibrations of his throat working against her, increasing her pleasure and need for more. Ragnar and Athelstan worked their fingers in tandem, their need growing with each passing moment. After a third finger was added, and a wrecked sob tore from Lagertha’s throat, Ragnar removed his fingers and moved the younger man once more, positioning him over his wife’s body. “Fuck her, Athelstan, and I will fuck you into her.” And of course, his lovers were pleased to follow his instruction.

A low groan came from the former priest’s throat as he sank into the woman. “God, Lagertha.” He panted softly. “Just like I remember. So tight. So hot.” She smiled and kissed him, biting down on his lower lip. But the tender moment was soon over as Ragnar positioned himself, and thrust inside the other man, burying himself to the hilt. Athelstan was overcome with sensation. To fill and be filled with the two people he loved greater than anyone or anything in this new world. That he had found them once more, it was almost enough for him to find God once more. It would be Ragnar who finally forced them to move, rocking his hips so that Athelstan would have to do the same. The younger man would thrust into Lagertha, and push back against Ragnar until they found that steady rhythm, certain to give them all the pleasure they sought.

The two men fucked into the woman, who arched her back off the bed like a bow, deepening the angle at which Athelstan thrusted into her. And every time Ragnar brushed against the brunette’s prostate, he made sure to rub his thumb over her nub, helping her to find the same sinful pleasure.

It would be Ragnar’s resolve to break first, his hips snapping forward in a frenzied pace. He cried out a quick warning before thrusting hard, and groaning as he spilled his release into their lover. Athelstan whimpered as his own muscles tensed and quivered, and he dropped his head down to rest in the crook of Lagertha’s neck, biting down on the pale skin as he too found his release, shaking with the intensity of it. As the aftershocks took the woman’s lovers, she continued to rock her hips against them, until she was brought to her climax with a scream. Her body shivered as waves of sensation overtook her, and as her husband and her lover came down from their high, she sighed in ultimate satisfaction.

When their breathing was once again normal, Lagertha was the one to move them. She had always preferred the middle position, her husband on one side, her priest on the other. The two men turned to their side, their arms resting over her belly, reaching for each other. “You’ll stay?” She asked the former priest with a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Of course.” He responded in kind. This Grantaire had his own apartments, but this felt more like home than he’d ever known. He would not give them up now that he’d found them, not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not written three person porn in a while, I'm so sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, but it's something I'm very excited about. Haven't written fic in a while, so writing a crossover between my two favorite fandoms to write for....I'm very excited. Explicit material will follow in the next fewchapters.


End file.
